58, WG34, E50, / NG24, D8, C1, Frz0, B2, NA0

Terry Pratchett, Nightwatch

Nach zwei Jahren Pause haben sich doch wieder einige Bände aus der Discworldserie angesammelt, die wiedergelesen werden möchten. Wie diese geniale Zeitreisegeschichte, in der Vimes eine Revolution leiten und steuern, einen psychopathischen Killer dingfest machen und zu allem Überfluß noch sein eigenes jüngeres Selbst beschützen muss, und alles ohne die Vergangenheit zu verändern. Spannung pur.

'... Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes...
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As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up. What would run through the streets soon enough wouldn't be revolution or a riot. It'd be people who were frightened and panicking. It was what happened when the machinery of city life faltered, the wheels stopped turning and all the little rules broke down. An when that happened, humans were worse than sheep. Sheep just ran; they didn't try to bite the sheep next to them.
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(Terry Pratched, Night Watch, 2002)

Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Auch dieses furiose Debut der Golems von Ankh Morpork habe ich viel zu lange nicht wiedergelesen. Immer wieder besonders schön: die Wappen mit den praktisch unübersetzbaren Mottos.

'You know, sometimes I envy you. It must be nice to be a wolf. Just for a while.'
'It has its drawbacks.' Like fleas, she thought, as they locked up the museum. And the food. And the constant nagging feeling that you should be wearing three bras at once.
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Rumour is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows - sometimes it doesn't even need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.
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'They think they want good government and justice for all, Vimes, yet what is it they really crave, deep in their hearts? Only that things go on as normal and tomorrow is pretty much like today.
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Royalty was like dandelions. No matter how many heads you chopped off, the roots were still there underground, waiting to spring up again.
It seemed to be a chronic disease. It was as if even the most intelligent person had this little blank spot in their heads where someone had written: 'Kings. What a good idea.' Whoever had created humanity had left in a major design flaw. It was its tendency to bend at the knees.
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(Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay, 1997)